


run to the old lake house where it begins

by pumpkinpickles



Category: Cinderella Phenomenon (Visual Novel)
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, F/M, Family Bonding, Friendship/Love, Gen, Platonic Soulmates, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 14:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpickles/pseuds/pumpkinpickles
Summary: Lucette and Fritz have a talk before Lucette's birthday gala. Traditions are practiced, jokes are had, and quiet rejoicing in what they have are reveled in.





	run to the old lake house where it begins

**Author's Note:**

> happy belated birthday to my favourite disney princess lucette riella britton !! written to 'grand hotel' by regina spektor, which is also where the title came from :")) 
> 
> this is supposed to be a part of my personal Mythros redemption AU but im not done w the main oneshot fic yet and i Really wanted to write this scene, so uuhhh have this preemptive epilogue-ish fic :")) for context: this follows (A GOOD MANY YEARS LMAO) after Waltz's good end.
> 
> also yall can pry the fact that Lucette and Fritz are 110% best friends/platonic soulmates out of my cold dead fucking hands
> 
> asdf i actually havent written in a while + been in a creative slump lately, so i hope you guys still enjoy this ! q_q

* * *

 

 

“Are you happy, my queen?”

The question is startling soft. Lucette hums, used to the gentle baritone of her knight’s voice, the way his honesty strikes sudden.

Fritz’s fingers make careful work through her hair, a simple French braid; a tradition of her birthdays that began all those years ago, when she was colder, harder, less trusting of maids and sharp pins and scissors.

Lucette smooths the edge of her layered gown down, mulling the question over. The answer comes instantaneous, but she doesn’t want to ruin his concentration. Doesn’t want to offer him an answer of loopholes and possible misconceptions. Overthinking is a hard habit to kick.

Fritz waits, infinitely patient. He knows her like he knows the ways of a sword; aware her silence is consideration and not hesitance.

The knowledge of this awareness becomes ease, a comfort Lucette sinks in now.

A slight tug, a telltale sign of her hair being tied off.

Fritz reaches over her shoulder towards the table to choose from an assortment of bejewelled pins and clips. The dazzling array beautifully reflects off each other and the beads and gems he’s already threaded through her hair.

As he does, Lucette turns back. It makes him stop, smile questioningly. He does not ask anything unnecessary. Decades with each other have taught them that silence is a perfectly fine way of communication, a preferred.

Lucette takes a moment to simply look at Fritz. She has him memorised, as he has her. All his mannerisms, tics and features.

Her eyes trace the scar that runs across the left side of his face, from his hairline to his cheekbone; then over to another that runs faint over his right cheek and across his jaw. At the laughter lines that crinkle in the corner of his eyes, into the crevices of his cheeks, so prevalent now as he smiles. Hair combed neatly for once, shorter now than in the days of his youth. But as always, the single shock of black fringe remains untouched, only neatly pinned back.

For any other it would be difficult to guess his age, and many make a game out of it with them four; Fritz jokingly thrown in with the witches for how well he holds himself for how badly the years have treated him.

The world has been unkind and turbulent but his touch and words remain still, his capacity for understanding and kindness a force of nature that will not bend to another’s will.

An ironclad spine and sunlit eyes are the only unchanged features of her knight.

Singular constants. As he always has been, steady and stalwart, by her side.

Lucette would not be half the woman without him.

She has found others now - her dearest family, her advisor, mentor and second brother all rolled in one, her beloved who has her heart and hand, body and soul, given her eternal love till the end of time, even beyond then.

Yes, Marchen, Myth and Waltz, all of them precious and irreplaceable, especially her red-eyed betrothed.

But Fritz - Fritz was the first to love her mind, to see her as someone who needed a shield instead of another sword to add to her arsenal made up of shards of a broken self.

Waltz is her other half, but Fritz is part of her heart.

Lucette turns the slightest to hold Fritz’s hand on the vanity in one of her own, turns back to face him fully. The physical contact makes him raise a brow, smile turning curious.

The hierarchy keeps them apart in more ways than one. It’s an ironclad rule turned into a childlike game of who can push the boundaries the furthest first - kisses on hands, hugs in private balls, her hair in his hands every night before her birthday gala. The first to remind the other about the inappropriateness of their distance between a queen and a knight loses. Winner gets a week’s worth of handmade chocolate croissants from the best baker in town.

Needless to say, Fritz runs additional laps every morning to burn off his extra calories. Though it isn’t as often as he’d like, Lucette is sure.

Both of them have come a long, long way.

“I am.” Lucette says, smiling, small as it is. She still finds it hard, to smile genuine and wide.

It feels like it should be a lie. Her happiness, her successes.

Sometimes it feels like she’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to wake one morning and find her glass slippers missing one, her bed unmade on one side and chambers eerily quiet.

But it isn’t.

Down the hallway, past the sprawling gardens and to the right of the unused auditorium, there is the grand ballroom.

Delora will be there, swathed in silk and gossamer, as will Karma and Lance, surely gossiping a storm about someone. Annice and Chevalier will not run late for this dinner, medical jargon put aside for the hors d'oeuvres. Rod by the piano, playing as many songs as he can for the evening before someone, eventually, sweeps him away for a dance. Ophelia trying not to fret over the decoratives or any miniscule thing that catches her attention, until Emelaigne takes her by the arm to join the doctors at the buffet table. Waltz anxiously waiting by the ballroom door, only distracted by Myth’s smirk and casual teasings.

Their family awaits, and Lucette heart swells in a way it does every seventh of May.

The sounds from the ballroom is faraway enough to doubt it’s reality, but Fritz’s immoving hand in hers keeps her grounded.

Traces a thumb over the burn on the back of his hand.

Their happiness is hard won. It is not a lie.

The man before her is proof enough.

Fritz’s right hand is warm. It is the one less skilled with a blade, but more so with a spear. Ambidexterity is something able to be trained. He has had fifty years now to perfect it. He had seen it pay off in twenty.

Her happiness is hers to bask in as much as it is his.

“I am.” Lucette repeats. It is a fortune to be a happy. Peace is a wedding gift her knight bestowed and she was, _is_ , so, so happy.

She doesn’t think there will ever be a day in their futures when she will not be.

Fritz’s smile folds at the edges as it is prone to do in her rare moments of peaceful honesty, of held back emotion and his own happiness. It is a piece of purely Fritz, all shy and delighted at once.

“I’m glad, princess.” Fritz says, even if the softness of volume makes it out more as a sigh.

The old title slips past him as it is prone to do in his moments of unguarded speech. It makes flutter Lucette’s heart, achingly sweet.

“Are you happy, too?” Lucette asks, only because it seems fair.

“Of course.” His answer is immediate. His smile grows more certain and solid. “It is hard not to be.”

Lucette laughs. Yes, it certainly is hard not to be. It is hard to not be happy when they are safe and surrounded by family and friends, when they are loved.

It is hard not to be thankful for what she has, and to be happy for what she has earned, what she has been given.

“I’m glad.” Lucette echoes.

Truly, she is. That Fritz is safe, that he is happy, that he is beside her still.

Fritz only chuckles in reply, ducking his head as his other hand twitches by his side, nearly shooting up to his neck in a manner so familiar and shy.

“Let’s not keep everyone waiting any longer.” Fritz says instead. He takes a step back and she follows his lead, her hand still in his, now held up at a regal angle.

“I don’t mind spending the rest of the evening with you.” Lucette shrugs, only really half-serious.

They make their way towards the door, and Fritz elegantly brings fist over his face to mask a snort.

“I’d rather not keep you away from your consort.” Fritz teases, opening the door.

“Waltz can survive one night without me.” Lucette shoots back, entirely unroyal-like. Empty pettiness is a vice she indulges in with this man who draws it out of her like second nature.

“You can’t.” Fritz hums, the mischievous spark in his eye only accentuated by the rising moon.

Lucette would try to step on his foot, but she knows it would be futile effort. She settles for snubbing him with a turned head, and Fritz only laughs in return. He does not muffle the sound with a hand, this time.

“The audacity, Fritz.” Lucette says, with no bite and all love.

“The audacity.” Fritz agrees.

It’s a short walk to the ballroom. Fritz stops just steps shy of the main doors, tucks one arm perpendicular behind his back, bows slightly, before purposefully bringing her hand to his lips.

Another tradition held close to heart, both falling into the roles with ease.

“Happy birthday, my queen. May you always be happy.”

Fritz’s murmur is always quiet, always sincere and heartfelt. This is not the first year Lucette finds herself believing in the power behind his wishes. This will not be the last, not yet.

But before that year is to come, there will be many more birthday braids to be plaited, many more well wishes to be exchanged and much more happiness to be had.

Lucette is smiling before Fritz even raises his head.

“Thank you, Fritz.”

They look at each other synchronously, and share another smile.

He does not ask what for. She does not elaborate.

The silence between them says enough.


End file.
